


Truman High Sucks

by staubfingers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Injury, Episode: s04e13 After School Special, First Kiss, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, no weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29970393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staubfingers/pseuds/staubfingers
Summary: 'Sometimes, I think I'm in love with my brother,' Sam nearly says, and instead settle for, “No one ever invited me to a sleepover before, you know.”Going back to Truman High stirs a lot of memories.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40
Collections: Every Time We Touch: A First-Time Wincest Fest





	Truman High Sucks

Truman High sucks, that much Sam's sure of when he gets out of the car, a heavy bag with second-hand books over his shoulder, and Dean right behind him.

“Cheer up, Sammy, won't be here for long. Two weeks tops, dad said.”

Did he? Sam can't remember, still feels half-asleep after he spent the majority of the night doing research. Whatever, at least dad's now prepared and will be making it back in one piece. That much Sam remembers his father saying this morning, and dad never broke that kind of promise.

“Yeah, sure,” Sam grumbles, setting off to the entrance-door. Third school this term, and he's already forgotten the name of the first one. Fortunately, it won't be long until Truman is just another faint memory as well.

-

“You think somethings going on?” Dean asks, starting the engine and hitting the gas before anyone starts to wonder about the male nurse, who walked in and out of the institution liked he belongs there, even though no one has ever seen him before.

“Yeah, might be. I think we should look into it,” Sam nods, rummaging around the cardboard box he's keeping all the stuff about potential cases in, looking for the newspapers that led them to this one.

“Truman High,” Dean sighs, “Hoped to never see that place again.”

Sam stops in his tracks then, because he thought the name rang a bell when he first read it, but now that Dean says it with a mixture of longing and disdain, he knows why that is. “We went there, didn't we?”

“Back in '97 or '98,” Dean confirms.

It shouldn't be a surprise, considering how many schools they went to over the years, hell, it's actually strange it didn't happen sooner, but why does it have to be Truman High of all places? “So, how do we get in?” Sam asks reluctantly.

“They're looking for a coach and a janitor, for weeks apparently, so they should be desperate enough to take anyone by now.”

“Okay, yeah, making a few kids run up and down the gym I can do.”

“Who said you're going to be the coach?”

“I said it, because you can be a douche and shouldn't be alone with children,” Sam states, earning himself a big grin and a light punch to the shoulder.

“Alright, rock-paper-scissor, then?”

-

He goes through the same old routine of being introduced to a class full of uninterested, annoyed kids four times in the morning, and another two in the afternoon. Whenever a teacher asks whether he wants to share something about himself, he only shrugs, shaking his head, and wishes he was somewhere else. There is no point in introducing himself, they won't even remember his name two months from now anyway.

During Literature, he fucks up by letting a knife fall out of his bag and onto his chair. Hastily, he puts it back, already dreading the speech Dean will give him if he gets himself expelled on their first day. Again. For a moment he's certain he'll get away with it, just to sit down and come face to face with a boy wearing glasses, smiling in amazement.

“I'm Barry,” he whispers.

Despite not wanting to, Sam feels himself returning the smile.

-

He strolls through the hallways, searching every room, hoping to find a trace of sulfur, or any sign of demonic-possession, but nothing. After he's been over everything twice he sets off for the gym where Dean's currently training teenagers. It's ridiculous, _Dean's training teenagers_ , and Sam's pretty sure their cover's going to blow up any minute now, because how can anyone look at Dean and not realizes it's a scam.

Turns out, Dean actually looks pretty convincing in his outfit, and Sam can't stop himself from saying, “Nice shorts,” when Dean comes over to him.

“Found anything?” Dean asks with a roll of his eye.

“No, gonna look into potential deaths on the school grounds, maybe that will get us somewhere.”

“You'll do that, I'm gonna play a round of dodge-ball.”

“You're not supposed to be playing,” Sam reminds him, but Dean's already turning around and Sam does his best to not stare.

-

Someone should've told Barry that getting friends with the new kid, who happens to carry around a knife, isn't such a good idea, but Sam sure as hell won't be the one breaking the news. Barry's his first friend in years, and on top of that he's the first person his age who doesn't give Sam a headache by simply talking to him in forever, so yeah, he's definitely not going to give up on that.

Despite being a real nice and funny person, Barry seems to be just as lonely as Sam is, with the addition of everyone making jokes behind his back. Well, some assholes don't even bother with the secrecy and call Barry bad names right into his face in the middle of a hallway, and Sam doesn't get it because Barry clearly doesn't deserve it.

' _Children are dumb idiots_ ,' Dean always says, and Sam went to enough schools to confirm that, however, they're just as easily terrified as they're stupid.

“You should've let me handle it, the moment this fuckface hit you. No one's shoving you around and getting away with it,” Dean grumbles and rubs balm onto Sam's knuckles. It's not necessary, they're hardly bruised, but Sam won't complain. Dean has a habit of fussing over him at the sight of the smallest cut, and Sam has the habit of getting pleasantly warm during those minutes, so he'll enjoy it while it lasts.

“Great idea,” he nods, his voice not sounding quite as sarcastic as he wanted it to, “You beating up a fourteen-years-old would not have gotten you in trouble. Like at all.”

“Yeah, yeah, smartass, because you getting kicked out of school wouldn't have gotten me in trouble with dad, either.”

“But I didn't, and you need the education more than I do, we both know it.”

Dean's shaking his head, but Sam still sees the grin he's so unsuccessfully trying to hide. “Whatever, at least you finally stood up for yourself.” He finishes bandaging Sam's hand, and ruffles his hair before Sam can duck away.

Sam didn't so much stood up for himself as he stood up for Barry, since years of being called a freak made him practically deaf to whatever insult someone is throwing at him, but he doesn't feel like telling Dean that.

-

It's Barry. Barry died, Barry killed himself, Barry is dead, and Sam hasn't even thought about him in years. He feels sick, and when he goes over the article again he nearly does throw up. When Dean comes back to their motel-room he finds Sam slightly shaking on his bed, staring at the opposite wall.

“What happened?” he asks alarmed, crossing the room with two big steps.

Sam only gives him the article, and when Dean finished it with a questioning look in his eyes, Sam whispers, “I knew him, he was my friend.”

Dean doesn't seem to remember Barry, which isn't too surprising, considering not even Sam remembered him. He feels like shit. “I'm sorry, Sammy,” Dean says, the concern in his voice mixing with confusion. He places a hand on Sam's shoulder, lets it stay there.

The warmth of Dean's hand is comforting, and Sam finds himself leaning into the touch, craving more. He closes his eyes, enjoys it for a few seconds, before he says, “We should burn the bones.”

They're done by midnight and while they watch the bones - such small bones, the bones of a _child -_ go up in flames, Sam does let go of the tears he's holding back ever since he found out what happened.

Dean doesn't comment, instead he puts his arms around Sam, pulls him close, and holds him through it.

-

Barry invites him to a sleepover at his house, and it takes Sam the better part of an afternoon to convince Dean to let him go. In the end, all it take is to point out that Dean and Amanda will have the room for themselves all night long, and Sam can nearly ignore how nauseous this makes him feel. It's a little pathetic, he realizes, this whole affair, but the thought doesn't get him down, he's just too exited.

Barry's parents are making small talk during dinner, asking Sam about his family, and where he lived before, and when he only gives short answers, they stop with that line of questioning and move on to other, easier topics. Sam likes them immediately.

“They're a bit embarrassing,” Barry says with flushed cheeks after he took Sam to his room.

“I think they're great,” Sam disagrees wholeheartedly, getting a relieved smile in return.

They spent the evening playing old board games, Sam never even heard of and enjoys immensely, and when it's time for bed, they wait until they're sure Barry's father went down the stair again, to turn the light back on. For hours, they keep talking, about what they want to be when they grow up, where they want to live, and what kind of pets they want to get. It fun, to indulge himself in those fantasies, even though Sam's pretty sure he's never going to have any of that.

When their conversation has come to an end after all, they turn off the lights again, and Sam's half-asleep in seconds, exhaustion of a long week taken over. “Can I tell you something?” Barry whispers above him.

It takes Sam a moment to realize he isn't dreaming, then he shakes himself a little, propping his head up with one hand. “Sure.”

“You... You have to promise me you won't be mad.”

Barry sounds nearly scared, and Sam affirms, “No, of course not.”

“I think- I think I like boys,” the words leave Barry's mouth so fast that Sam's got trouble understanding them.

When he does, though, he's confused, he definitely didn't expect that. It might be due to the fact that Sam's hiding nearly every aspect of his own life, that this doesn't seem to be such a big deal. Honestly, taking in the scared tone in Barry's voice, Sam expected a murder-confession or something like that. It's a bit disappointing.

“Oh God, I shouldn't- Please, don't be mad, Sam. Don't tell anyone! I- I was just joking! I-”

“Barry, it's fine,” Sam interrupts him, “I'm not mad.”

“You're not?” Barry doesn't sound convinced.

“Of course not.” He feels like he owes Barry a secret as well, and for a moment he considers telling Barry about the monsters they're hunting, but that's a horrible idea, and Barry would probably think Sam's messing with him anyway.

' _Sometimes, I think I'm in love with my brother_ ,' Sam nearly says, and instead settle for, “No one ever invited me to a sleepover before, you know.”

Barry merely chuckles at that, and soon they both fall asleep.

-

It wasn't Barry but Dirk, and Sam can't shake off the horrible guilt he feels. He left Barry behind, left him alone in that school where everyone bullied him and made him feel like everything about him was wrong, that he should be ashamed of who he was. And Sam humiliated Dirk, pushed him around like everyone did with Barry, and gave him an awful nickname that stuck even years after Sam left.

Both boys killed themselves, they were hardly grown up, and yet they felt such a soul-crushing weight that they thought the only way out was to end everything.

“It's not your fault,” Dean says between gritted teeth, even though Sam hasn't spoken a word since they've left Dirk's father house.

“It is. I knew how horrible Barry felt, and I didn't even call him once. And I was the one who beat Dirk, who gave him that nickname. I was-”

Dean pulls over then, parks the car at the side of the road, and looks Sam directly in the eyes. “It's not your fault,” he repeats insistently, “No one kills themselves due to being called a bad name once, or losing a friend. They were miserable for years, Sam, and we stayed fo rhow long? A month? Two maybe? It's not your fault everyone was awful to them, you just stood up for yourself.”

“It doesn't feel like that,” Sam says, voice thin.

With a sigh, Dean places a hand on Sam's cheek, strokes the skin under his eye with his thumb. “We're gonna set him free now. It's going to be fine.”

Sam nods, places his hand on Dean's, wants to stay like this forever and just forget the world around them. For a minute they do stay like that, close and breathing in-sync, and nothing really matters, just them. “Let's finish the case, Sammy,” Dean whispers, too soon, and place a small kiss onto Sam's cheek.

For the rest of the drive Sam tries to forget about how his skin burns where Dean lips touched it.

-

It's Friday, his last day at Truman High, and they've already packed their things in the morning so that they could leave right away. Dad came back yesterday, exhausted but unharmed, and Sam waited for him to get a few hours of rest, before he begged him to let him stay at least until the break. Of course dad refused, Sam hadn't really expected anything else, but that didn't stop him from shouting how fucking unfair all of this was. In the end, he had his father so riled up that he was visibly close to slapping Sam silent, and he'd probably had done it, if Dean hadn't come home then, taking Sam with him for a ride so that they all could calm down.

When the last bell rings, Sam gets up reluctantly, walking out into the hallway and setting off to the bench behind the school-building Barry and him had agreed on meeting at. For the last time. Fuck, even thinking it hurts, and a part of Sam wants to run without saying goodbye.

When he steps out of the building, Barry is already there, hands stuffed into his pockets. They're the only people here, everyone else probably couldn't get away fast enough, forgetting about this stupid school at least for the weekend, and normally Sam would be one of them.

“So, time to say goodbye,” he says stupidly when he reaches Barry.

“Yes,” Barry says a little breathless, “Before you go I wanted- I-” But he doesn't say it, instead he leans forward and places a short kiss onto Sam's lips.

Sam's unable to move, his mind reeling, and so many questions on the tip of his tongue.

“I'm sorry... I wanted... Before you go-”

Sam can't really explain it later, but he shuts Barry up then, with another kiss that lasts a little longer than the one before, and that just feels as unreal.

When they break apart again, Sam's a little dizzy. “It was really nice meeting you,” he says, as if this isn't the worst thing he could say.

Barry nods, looking a little helpless, and then he asks, “You'll call?”

“Yeah, I will,” Sam promises, feeling awkward, suddenly too big for his own body.

He gets to the car, runs actually, can't get away fast enough from the boy he kissed, and he won't be seeing ever again. He feels like shit, aware that Barry deserves more than this sorry-ass goodbye, but is unable to give him anything better.

“Where have you been?” Dean asks, concern in his voice.

“Fuck you,” Sam growls, slipping into the backseat and ignoring the way dad's scolding him for talking to his brother that way.

During the next hours Sam tries to not give too many thoughts into what has happened. That he got his first kiss. That he left Barry behind like he'll always leave everyone behind eventually. That Barry's probably sitting at home right now, regretting what he's done. Sam's close to tears, biting his lip bloody in order to not let any of them fall, and he wants to tell dad to go back and to go faster at the same time. When they stop to get gas, Dean turns around, worried lines on his forehead, “You gonna tell me what happened?”

“No.”

“Sammy.”

“I said no!” He shuts his eyes, pulls the hood of his shirt over his face, and feels a tear slip after all.

-

It's done, for good this time, and Sam's whole body is aching from the beating Dirk's ghost gave him. Dean has an arm thrown around his middle, half leading, half carrying him over the parking-lot and into the room to Sam's bed, helping him sit down.

“Your nose's swollen, might be broken,” Dean says, cowering in front of Sam to get a better look onto his face, “Don't think I have to stitch anything up, have to wash the blood away first, though. Are you dizzy?”

“No, but I think one of my ribs is cracked.”

Without missing a beat Dean unbuttons Sam's shirt, and presses his fingers right against an already forming bruise. “Nah, feels alright,” he states lightly, the tone of his voice in contrast to the worried lines around his lips.

“Not really,” Sam hisses, and holds his side, trying to breathe the pain away.

“You're gonna be fine,” Dean affirms, standing up to get their first aid bag, and Sam nearly throws something after him.

Before cleaning the wounds on his face, Dean gives him that disgusting whiskey they save up for this purpose, and Sam chokes down a good chunk of it, which unfortunately doesn't help at all with the burning sting. Sam concentrates on Dean's fingers instead, feather-light on his skin, going expertly through the motions. He can't even count the times Dean done this for him, and it's weirdly comforting, feeling more like home than this shitty town ever did.

“Was really stupid what you did back there, getting yourself beat up like that,” Dean grumbles, cleaning the cut on Sam's brow.

“Didn't really have a chance, he was too strong.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I didn't see you even try to get him off of you.”

Sam sighs, aware there's no point in lying, and swallows another mouthful of the whiskey, “Felt like I deserved it.”

“Oh, come on-”

“No, I know, I'm not responsible for his death, but that doesn't change that what I did to him was horrible. I just- I think he deserved to get back on me before he died for good, that's all.”

“You're driving me insane, Sam. I swear, one day I'll get locked up into one of those institutions because of you,” Dean says with a rather affectionately roll of his eyes.

“I'll be right beside you,” Sam grins, vision starting to turn somewhat blurry.

“Sure you'll be.” Dean's getting up again, takes the kit away, and goes to the bathroom sink to wash the blood off his hands. Sam nearly begs him to come back immediately, pulls himself together, though, and thankfully only has to wait for a minute until Dean's sitting down right beside him.

“Sort of wish we'd never come back to this shitty town,” Sam mumbles, and passes the bottle over to Dean, who takes a sip as well.

“Was definitely already a crap experience the first time around.”

“I wanted to stay so bad then,” Sam chuckles grimly, “I begged dad, hated him so much when he said no, and then I didn't even bother to call, or send a fucking letter, or whatever. Do you think it would have changed anything? Me staying?”

“Don't do that,” Dean says, taking Sam's hand into his own, “If our life had been different, we would never have come to this town, and one phone-call can't fix a depression, either.”

“Yeah, you're right, still wish that didn't happen to Barry. He was a great guy, all he ever wanted was a good life, to get out of here.” He thinks back to their sleepover, how they lay in bed, talked through the night, wondering what career-paths they would settle onto. Everything seemed possible during those few hours, and Sam wishes he could go back, save those two boys from the horrors they ought to live and die through.

He doesn't even realize that the tears started to fall again, not until Dean wipes them away with his fingers. It's painfully tender, and it makes Sam cry even more for a moment before he gets back in control, swallowing those unwanted tears down.

“You were in love with him, weren't you?” Dean asks hesitantly, his one hand still holding Sam's, while the other settle on Sam's shoulder.

“Yes,” Sam nods, “I think I was. But not as much as I was in love with you.” He didn't plan on saying those last words, they just slipped out, and the moment they passed his lips a sense of relief washes over him.

“Were?” Dean asks, not even flinching.

“Am,” Sam admits. And that's it, all cards on the table, Dean's either going to run now, or he's going to-

Dean's leaning in, his lips meeting Sam's, first gently, and when Sam opens up under him, more forcefully. Those fireworks Sam always expected to go off upon this first kiss never come, instead this feels weirdly familiar, like they've done it for years. Doesn't make it any less perfect.

After a few seconds Sam hisses unwillingly into Dean mouth, though, his lip split again, making him taste his own blood. “Maybe we'll continue this tomorrow?”

“Oh, we definitely will,” Dean grins and places another kiss onto Sam's mouth regardless. 

-

Sam lies alone in bed, the surrounding room unnaturally silent, with dad off on another hunt and Dean at the local bar. Those nights are the worst because they give Sam time to think, and his thoughts always land on Barry and the kiss they've shared, even months after it happened. It feels like one of the most significant moments in Sam's life, not due to the fact that it was his first kiss, or that it made him realize that he definitely preferred boys to girls, no, but because all that is on his mind when he thinks about this kiss is, ' _Dean should've been my first._ '

Dean should be Sam's first _everything_. And when the night is too quiet, that thought doesn't let Sam sleep, because deep down he knows Dean will never be fully his.

-

Sam isn't really sure what makes him visit Mr. Wyatt, maybe it's the fact that he's one of the few teacher's Sam's got good memories of, or maybe he just doesn't want to go without saying goodbye, and Mr. Wyatt is simple the only person still alive.

Surprisingly, he remembers Sam and when he asks whether Sam's happy with the way his life turned out, he doesn't even give it a thought before he answers, “Yes. Yes, I am.”

They shake hands, and while Sam wanders those hallways he thinks about Barry, and it feels like closure.

Back in the car Dean greets him with an easy smile on his lips. “How did it go?”

“Good, he recognized me, we talked a little." Without really thinking about it he scoots over to Dean, sits far closer than he would've done yesterday. It feels good, _right_. 

“'Course he recognized you, not often that a weird kid like you comes into town,” Dean grins, placing a hand of the nap of Sam's neck and Sam leans into the touch, placing his own hand on Dean' s thigh, let's it rest there.

“Yeah, maybe he just remembered me because of the freak of an older brother who trailed after me all the time.”

“Guess, we'll never know,” and with that Dean drives off, leaving Truman High behind once again, and despite everything Sam's looking forward to what lies ahead.


End file.
